


In Which There is a Great Deal of Snuggling

by liggytheauthoress



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mindless Fluff, Multi, and sleepy Amis, lots of snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They never planned the nights when they all just crashed at Enjolras’s place, they just sort’ve happened."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which There is a Great Deal of Snuggling

**Author's Note:**

> Churned out in about half an hour strictly for the purposes of cheering up one of my best friends, so expect neither quantity nor quality.

Enjolras stretched, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and attempted to sit up. The movement made Grantaire grumble and attach himself more firmly to the blond’s waist, his dark curls tickling Enjolras’s side. Enjolras rolled his eyes, whispering, “I want coffee, love,” before making another effort to sit up.

Grantaire whined, mumbling, “S’too early to get up.”

“It’s past noon,” Enjolras told him after glancing at his alarm clock.

Grantaire merely huffed and burrowed further into his side. Enjolras sighed in defeat, resigning himself to being trapped in bed for a little while longer. Besides, even if Grantaire were to relinquish his grip, it would be almost impossible to get from the bedroom to the kitchen anyway, considering the room was strewn with sleeping amis.

They never planned the nights when they all just crashed at Enjolras’s place, they just sort’ve happened. Sometimes the cause was a protest gone badly and all of them needing reassurance that everyone was okay, other times it was because they’d been out drinking a little too hard and ended up just following Enjolras home. Last night had merely been a simple of case of nobody wanting to drive home.

Whatever the cause, Enjolras couldn’t deny that he loved those nights, and the mornings that followed.

He glanced around the room, taking in the figures of each of his friends. Combeferre was on his other side, barely visible inside his cocoon of blankets, his hand still resting above Enjolras’s head (he’d fallen asleep playing with the blond curls).

Courfeyrac and Jehan had claimed the foot of the bed, as they usually did. Jehan was draped across Enjolras and Grantaire’s feet, drooling a little, and Courf had thoroughly wrapped himself around the poet, clutching him like a teddy bear, his face pressed into Jehan’s back.

Marius was spooning Cosette on the futon in the corner, one hand tangled in her hair and the other grasping hers. Cosette’s free hand rested on the floor, inches away from one belonging to Eponine, who was sprawled out in front of the futon in a tangle of blankets.

Beside her, Bossuet was draped across Musichetta like a human blanket, which was probably because Joly had once again confiscated most of the actual blankets in his sleep, instinctively taking precautions against drafts even when he wasn’t conscious. Musichetta had one arm wrapped around Bossuet’s waist and the other tucked beneath Joly’s head, holding both her boys close. Their legs were a mess of entwined limbs that Enjolras couldn’t even begin to sort out.

Bahorel, like Eponine, looked like he was attempting to claim as much of the floor as he possible could. He was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, but not, it appeared, loud enough to wake Feuilly, who was curled up on top of him like a cat.

Enjolras smiled to himself, for once content to just relax for a bit. Later on he’d wake everyone up, earning glares from Bahorel and Courf and groans of protest from Jehan and Bossuet, and Eponine would undoubtedly throw something at his head, and then it would be a mad scramble to see who got to the bathroom first and there would be chaos in the kitchen, but for now, everything was still and quiet (except for Bahorel’s snoring) and peaceful.

Grantaire was looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, a sleepy smile on his face. “Still want to get up?” he asked.

Enjolras responded by nuzzling into Grantaire’s neck and sighing contentedly. “Nah,” he murmured, brushing his lips against Grantaire’s skin. “I’m good for now.”


End file.
